


Let Me Begin The Story

by Bloomer



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloomer/pseuds/Bloomer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did the Enderborn come to be, anyway?<br/>(A oneshot fic i wanted to write for one Mr. Joakim Hellstrand.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Begin The Story

Once upon a time, there was silence. Less than silence. The footstep in a forest walk; the turn of a page. 

The nervous yet excited murmur of those three little words uttered aloud for the first time. 

The blowing of a bubble; the popping of a bubble.. The brief moment of peace underwater before you choke. The light through the trees as you doze off. The cautious ease of stepping into a dream. 

Less than silence; is it peace? 

No time to decide. 

The boy is born on a whim, with a dull throb in his head and poison in his veins. The boy is surrounded by the black of a starless night, and a bleak feeling of being blind. He is drowned in piercing screams, coming from somewhere and nowhere and below and around and from his own choked throat. 

There are two others like this boy, in their own lands, beginning their own stories. These three are born as brothers; the three demigods with beautiful eyes of glowing diamonds.  
But for now, they were rocks as sharp as knives. 

The boy is born in one of the worlds, and now the boy must run.

The beings all around him hunger for this abnormal entity, but he will never give up, he can’t! The boy does not have time, no time at all; no time to take in his surroundings, no time to look at his body for the first time, no time to question just why he shouldn’t give up. 

Who was he? Did it matter? No time to decide, no time.

A deep roar echoes through this barren hell, adding to his paralysing headache. He stopped behind a pillar as he realised he was not quite alone with the creatures. The boy was not quite sure where, but somewhere in this womb lay his greatest threat, his most buried terror.  
His mother. 

The boy gripped his head tight, releasing a cry of pain. This, he would come to realise, was his first greatest desire; To see. To assess his surroundings, for a small yet present chance of survival. 

Suddenly, his eyes exploded. He too was hollow eyed like his hunters, but at least his headache was gone (along with the eyes, of course.) 

A small feeling returned to him- the footstep of a forest walk; the turn of a page- and he failed to resist a blissful sigh. He wanted to fly like his mother, and he wanted to be quiet like his soul. It felt like worlds were behind his eyes, worlds to yet be explored, filling into his skull. 

And suddenly, the boy could see. Later on in life, his eyes would be a form of identification; people would know exactly who he was by his eyes alone, and would fear him. 

And for a certain few who will grow to love him, they would see his eyes- his tired, blue, glowing eyes- and would feel safe.

He looked around. Black still enveloped this world; black skies, black towers, black creatures…it would have to do. Tattered flags blew without wind, as if they contained the souls of the battles apparently fought on this wasteland. 

It wasn’t much, but to the boy, it was home. 

His mother lay above the tower, looking at him with a furious curiosity. She was obviously wounded; her side was soaked in blood and her roars were drenched in pain. She would fly down to him and kill him, if she could. 

They stared at each other, mother and son. There was no maternal feeling, no offspring gratitude. Only a sense of curiosity- If the situation was different, they would ask each other questions on his beginning. How did he come to be, and why? 

In this situation, however, there was only curiosity. The mother closed her eyes, overwhelmed with pain- and another feeling, they both realised at once. Resentment, hatred, bloodlust…

A beautifully terrible desire for revenge. 

The mother began to crawl over the tower, ready to try flying. She could at least die with her son. The boy, however, was gone. He would do what he could do best- Run, and see. 

He ran from the monsters he could see, and those he could not see. 

He ran into the blackness he could see as somewhere else, somewhere better- 

And ever so softly, he fell. The boy could not see that the world ended; he could now, however, call this world a platform. The boy did not run off the edge, for how could anyone run in the air? 

The mother screamed with rage, looking onto her son, flapping her wings in fury. Her first and last word would mean so much to the boy as he fell, the blue dripping out of his obscure eyes. 

It was a word from an ancient tongue native to his homeland, a word that could only be reserved for the traitors of blood. It was a word of disownment, a word of intense hatred for someone you used to call family. 

And to the boy falling, the demigod, the Enderborn, he would take it as a name. 

Rythian.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. uwu


End file.
